


I Drink and I Know Things

by picturestoproveit



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bobbi Morse Needs a Hug, Bobbi and Hunter are on another break, Cunnilingus, Drinking Games, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, F/M, Fitz/Bobbi BroTP, Game of Thrones References, Hallucinations, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Season/Series 03, Simmons is still missing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, but sometimes BroTPs get drunk and have sex because they're sad and that's ok, okay hear me out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29314200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picturestoproveit/pseuds/picturestoproveit
Summary: Just two heartbroken friends, playing a drinking game while watching Game of Thrones. Things happen.Set immediately before S3 Ep1 "The Laws of Nature".
Relationships: Lance Hunter & Bobbi Morse, Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Bobbi Morse, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. The Long Night

_“Alrajul almaswuwl,”_ Bobbi said slowly. She burrowed into the corner of the couch and stretched her bad leg out in front of her, resting her heel on the coffee table while watching her drinking companion closely. 

“All ra-jool alama…swol,” Fitz repeated, slurring the “s” _just_ enough to where Bobbi could tell he was a hair past tipsy and on his way to drunk (though she couldn’t say she was faring much better). He met her eyes and broke into a lazy grin. “Nailed it,” he declared, saluting her with his beer bottle before taking another swig. 

Bobbi rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fitz. No,” she replied, unable to hide her amusement.

“Fitz _yes_.”

“That wasn’t even close.”

“Yes it was. I said exactly what you just said, just now. That was me. Repeatin’ your _exact_ words. _Exactly_.”

“And when, _exactly_ , are you going to tell me why you suddenly want to know how to ask for ‘the man in charge’ in Arabic?”

Fitz tipped his head back until it was resting on the back of the couch and slowly turned his face toward her. “If I tell you I’ll have to kill you,” he said lightly, but he couldn’t disguise the quick flash of pain that flickered in his eyes. Not from her. 

“Fitz,” Bobbi began carefully, “Look. You’re my friend and I will always help you, you know that. But -”

“BOOBS!” Fitz yelled suddenly, pointing at the television screen. Bobbi groaned and peeked at the TV. Sure enough, yet _another_ comely young actress with unnaturally perky tits was rolling around on screen with one of the main characters. “Drink two,” he said with a smirk. “One for each.”

Bobbi sighed. “Christ, we’re only five minutes into this episode,” she grumbled, lifting her bottle to her lips and pulling off two long swigs. “We’re going to be hammered by the time it’s all over.”

“Hey, it was your idea to drink and watch Game of Thrones,” Fitz said with a chuckle. “Don’t blame me.”

“It was _your_ idea to turn it into a drinking game,” she retorted, but she couldn’t help but smile at him. “If I didn’t know any better I would think you’re trying to get me drunk.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and snorted with delight when his ears turned bright pink.

“I’m tryin’ to get _me_ drunk,” he replied, suddenly taking an acute interest in the label on his bottle. “And I’m pretty sure that _no one_ can make Agent Bobbi Morse do something she isn’t already keen to do,” he added, shooting her a sideways glance. “Saw Hunter leave this morning. He didn’t look happy.”

Bobbi grimaced. “I bet he didn’t,” she muttered, picking at her own bottle label with her fingernails.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. You wanna tell me why you’re trying to learn Arabic?”

“Not really.”

They both fell silent for several moments, each choosing to focus on the television instead of their respective broken hearts. On screen, Jon Snow was moping about and Bobbi briefly wished she could climb through the television and kick his whiny ass. That would be one way to cheer herself up.

Fitz was the first to break the silence. “He’ll come back,” he said quietly, glancing over at her. “He always does.”

Bobbi hummed noncommittally, drawing the inside of her cheek between her teeth as she worked the Sam Adams sticker off the neck of the bottle. “Maybe,” she replied with a casual shrug that she knew wasn’t fooling either of them. She turned her head and met his eyes. “Simmons will be back, too,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his knee and watching his face carefully as a tidal wave of conflicting emotions- anguish, fear, defeat, desperation, hope - washed over his features in less than a millisecond. 

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured, quickly casting his gaze away, but not before she caught the tears that had begun to well up in his eyes. He cleared his throat roughly. “That’s my plan, at least.”

Bobbi felt her heart clench for him. “Well, if anyone can get her back, it’s you,” she said, squeezing his knee encouragingly. The tone she had been aiming for was “cheerfully optimistic”, but between her own heartache and her increasing blood alcohol level, her words came out tighter and more anxious than she had intended. 

Bobbi watched as a strange look settled on his face, one she was having difficulty deciphering. She leaned over and tilted her head, aiming to catch his eye. “Hey,” she said softly. “What’s up?”

He still wasn’t looking at her, and now she could see his face was definitely redder than it had been moments earlier. She followed his gaze and realized he was staring at her hand. Her hand that was now gently rubbing the inside of his knee. 

That was...an interesting thing for her to be doing. Particularly since she hadn’t realized she had been doing it. She must have been drunker than she thought. 

With the clock ticking on the “okay, now it’s getting weird” timer, Bobbi quickly mulled over her options – either pull away and apologize for getting handsy (she always had been a touchy-feely drunk, at least according to Hunter) or play it off with a few platonic “atta boy” knee slaps (probably the less appropriate option but definitely more her style). But before she could make a decision, Fitz decided to take her by surprise by suddenly grabbing her hand and lacing his fingers through hers.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he murmured, turning his wrist until his hand was resting palm-up on his leg, shifting her hand so it was cradled on top of his. “You’re the only one here who isn’t treating me like I’m eight years old and searching for a lost puppy.” 

“Fitz, no one is saying that,” Bobbi protested immediately, trying to ignore how warm his palm felt pressed against hers, as well how the underside of her wrist was lightly resting against his radial artery in such a way that she could feel his pulse tickling her skin. 

“But they’re thinkin’ it. For a bunch of spies they have awful fucking poker faces,” he retorted. He flopped his head back on top of the couch cushion and looked at her. The glassiness in his eyes only served to make his irises seem unnaturally blue and she knew she needed to stop that train of thought _right-the-fuck-now_ before she did something stupid. 

“You’re the only person who gets it,” he said, and for the second time in as many minutes, caught her off guard by pulling her hand up to his mouth and smacking a kiss against her knuckles. “So thank you. I’m forever in your debt,” he finished with an adorable grin, dropping their still-tangled hands back into his lap and squeezing her palm for good measure. Her heart simultaneously fluttered and sank.

Shit. He was _really_ cute, and Bobbi _really_ wished her brain had realized that before she had invited him back to her bunk to get drunk. She probably would have suggested a less potentially volatile activity, one that wouldn’t result in her staring at his lips like the way she was currently doing...

“INCEST!” Bobbi blurted out. Poor Fitz jumped like a startled cat, eyes wide and confused, and dropped her hand as if she had electrocuted him. She felt her face flush as she wordlessly pointed to the couple on TV, and almost broke into giggles when she saw the look of relief on his face. 

“Ugh, bloody Lannisters,” he groused, suddenly very focused on reaching for the pint of whisky on the table in front them. “Two swigs of hard stuff,” he prompted her, nodding at the bottle of Tito’s on the floor underneath Bobbi’s leg. She groaned as attempted to lean down to grab the bottle, but with her leg extended out straight, she couldn’t quite manage to stretch far enough to grab it. She flopped back into the cushions, feeling dizzy and defeated. 

“Can’t reach it,” she announced with a pout and a sigh. “Christ, I’m so outta shape. I can’t even bend over from a fucking _sitting_ position.” Fitz gave her a sympathetic shrug as he raised the whisky bottle to his lips, and she pouted harder. “Six months ago I could’ve wrapped both legs around my head if I wanted to,” she grumbled, crossing her arms and feeling drunk and sorry for herself. 

She hadn’t realized what she had said until she heard Fitz splutter and cough beside her. “Jesus, Bobbi, warn a guy,” he choked out, hand curled against his mouth in an attempt to catch the whisky that dribbled down his chin. 

Bobbi couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t mean it like THAT!” she snorted, reaching out and slapping his back in time with his coughs. “I just meant I used to be _flexible_. Like, in a physical fitness kind of way _._ ”

“Yeah, no, I got that,” he wheezed, finally catching his breath. “You really illustrated the concept well, thanks for waiting ‘till I was mid-sip.” He looked back at her, his eyes watery and face red from coughing. “You’re gonna have to take an extra drink now, though. Make up for the one you made me spit out,” he said with a surprisingly wicked grin, reaching across her body for the bottle of vodka on the floor.

Whatever witty retort she had been prepared to hurl at him promptly died on the tip of her tongue when she realized that his head was practically buried in her lap as he blindly rooted around for the bottle.

“Dude!” Bobbi exclaimed, squirming slightly in her seat and giving him a playful swat on his head. “Buy me a drink first, at least!” 

“ _Tech-_ nically I bought the beer,” Fitz countered, his reply muffled and warm against her leg. Faintly, the little sober version of herself that lived in her head was sounding all sorts of alarms that were becoming increasingly easier for her to ignore the longer he wiggled around on her lap looking for the stupid vodka.

“OK well, _tech-_ nically I gave you cash for it when you got back,” she retorted, shifting her hips as a familiar ache began to build between her legs, and with a defeated sigh, she finally gave up trying to fight it. 

What Bobbi lacked in judgment at times, particularly when it came to relationships and sex (Hunter was a living testament to _that,_ if nothing else), she made up for with a startling amount of self-awareness. She knew herself well enough to know that she was a) sad and lonely; b) sad and horny; c) drunk enough to ignore the potential consequences of fucking her sad and lonely friend; and d) definitely going to fuck her sad and lonely friend if he wanted her to.

She may have had shortcomings, but at least she knew what they were. That had to count for something. 

Fitz finally sat up, clutching the Tito’s bottle by the neck triumphantly. He flopped back against the cushion next to her, legs splayed open with his knee resting against hers. “Yeah, but I completed the transaction _and_ I have the receipt,” he replied with a cocky smirk as he pressed the vodka into her hand. “You have no proof. Now drink.” 

Bobbi wrinkled her nose and shot him a mock-glare as she swigged three large sips from the bottle. “Ugh,” she hissed, screwing her face up as the liquor burned its way down to her stomach. She handed him the bottle and dropped her head back against the back of the couch with a heavy thump, an unruly lock of hair flopping over her eyes. “Hope you’ve been doing push-ups because you're probably going to be lifting my drunk ass off the floor before the night is over,” she grumbled, attempting to blow her hair away from her eyes and failing miserably. 

Fitz scoffed as he placed the bottle on the edge of the coffee table. “Looks like I’ll just have to leave you on the floor then, ‘cause I was counting on you to lift _my_ drunk ass off of this sofa,” he replied with a grin, reaching a hand forward to brush her unruly hair off her face. As he carefully tucked the strands behind her ear, she could feel his fingers tense slightly against the sensitive skin of her neck, and she couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that crept up her spine. 

Judging from the way his gaze quickly flicked from her eyes to her lips, it was safe to say that he noticed her response. With a tired, almost defeated-sounding sigh, he slowly leaned in and carefully rested his forehead against hers, cradling her jawline with his palm. 

Okay. So this was definitely happening then. Good to know. 

“Bad idea, right?” he murmured, gently running his thumb back and forth across her cheekbone. Bobbi closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, her head swimming from both the booze and the proximity of his lips to hers. She knew this was her last chance to pump the brakes, but between the alcohol coursing through her body and the need to feel something, _anything_ other than the emptiness that had been lingering in her chest since the moment she woke up from surgery six months prior…well, she simply didn’t have the strength. 

“Right,” she sighed, sliding her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him forward until his mouth was on hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Bobbi drinks Sam Adams and generally indulges in things that reference the American Revolution just to piss Hunter off.


	2. Faceless Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some welcome smut and an unwelcome guest. 
> 
> In other words, Bobbi Morse is Not Okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this whole story took a turn on me that I didn’t expect nor plan for, hence the long delay on posting chapter two.

For as drunk and desperate as they both seemed earlier, the kiss itself was surprisingly gentle and slow. Soothing, almost like a hug. Bobbi could feel the hollow ache in her chest begin to melt away, with feelings of contentment and security slowly replacing the persistent emptiness that had been threatening to eat her alive. She moved her lips in concert with his and marveled at how comfortable she felt. Safe, even.

Dimly, she realized that she had never actually kissed a friend before, and while it may have lacked the explosive burst of passion she was more accustomed to, kissing Fitz just felt really... _nice_. She would be satisfied to stay like this for the rest of the night, maybe. Trading slow and gentle kisses until one or both of them passed out cold didn’t sound like a bad idea at all. 

And then he parted his lips and coaxed her mouth open with his tongue. Just like that, the warm and fuzzy feeling in her belly ignited into something much more incandescent, and Bobbi found herself reaching for his face with both hands to pull him in harder, sliding her tongue alongside his as the kiss deepened. She swung her bad leg off of the table and up onto the couch as she grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and flopped onto her back, pulling him down with her. 

He let out a surprised _oomph_ against her lips and planted his hand on the armrest above her head at the last second to prevent his full weight from crashing down on her. His pelvis landed exactly where she needed him, his cock hard and heavy against her core, and she bucked upwards against him, gasping into his mouth at the jolt of pleasure that pulsed outward from her center. 

Everything started getting a little hazy from that point. There was a lot of kissing, a fair amount of groping, and definitely enough grinding to make Bobbi wish she were back at full strength so she could flip him off the couch and rip his clothes off to speed the process along. 

Eventually his hands found their way to the waistband of her leggings, and Bobbi eagerly lifted her ass off the couch as he grabbed the fabric and began to tug downward, getting them to the bottom of her thighs when he suddenly stopped. Several seconds passed, and she wondered if maybe he had lost his nerve. Or passed out. Either way, both options were going to leave her extremely frustrated. 

She propped herself up on her elbows to investigate and was greeted by the sight of Fitz staring at her leggings as if he were trying to solve the world’s most complex math problem. 

“Your pants are broken,” he muttered, tugging at her pant leg with a confused expression. “Why are your pants broken?”

Bobbi closed her eyes and felt the room tilt slightly. “My pants aren’t broken, my _knee_ is broken,” she groaned. “I mean, it’s not broken but I have that…that _thing_ on,” she continued drunkenly, waving her hand in the direction of her knee. “That’s why I’m stuck.”

Fitz’s eyes lit up with slow recognition. “Ohhhh, riiiiight. Knee brace,” he affirmed, nodding sagely. He plucked at the Velcro clumsily for several moments before throwing his hands up in defeat. “This is too complicated,” he whined, pouting. “Who designs these things?”

“Clearly not you,” Bobbi replied with a frustrated huff. “Forget about the knee brace, just pull my other pant leg off.”

“Oh, you’re a bloody genius,” he breathed, and clumsily yanked downward on the cloth as she pulled her good leg free. She opened her mouth, ready to deliver a quip about him being a _literal_ genius who couldn’t figure out how pants worked when he surged forward and put his mouth directly against the soaked crotch of her panties. Bobbi gasped at the contact, his hot breath seeping through the cloth and making her pussy throb, and she promptly forgot why she was going to insult him in the first place. She swung her newly- freed leg up and over the back of the couch, opening herself up as wide as she could, and Fitz took the hint. He pulled her panties off to the side with one finger, exposing her soaked folds, and ran his tongue along her slit with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. 

“Holy shit, Fitz,” Bobbi gasped, her hands flying down and landing artlessly on the back of his head. She held him in place and rolled her hips against his mouth as his tongue quickly found her clit, and she was so worked up she nearly came on the spot. “How’d you get so good at this?” she breathed, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. 

In response, Fitz pulled back slightly and nipped at her inner thigh with his teeth and promptly slid two fingers into her cunt. She yelped and her lower body involuntarily jerked, her bad leg flopping off the couch and her heel hitting the carpet with a dull _thump._ The alcohol in her system made it easy for her to ignore the sharp twinge in her knee as she planted her foot on the floor for leverage and undulated her hips against his hand and face. 

“SciTech. Second year cunnilingus lab,” he grumbled, his voice vibrating against the tender skin of her thigh, and she couldn’t help huff out a quick laugh in between her moans. He laved his tongue wetly over the bite mark and looked up at her with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes. “Did they not have that class at Ops?” he asked, working his fingers in and out of her pussy with a slow and teasing pace and smirking at her like the cocky little shit she knew he could be at times. 

“Hnnhghh, _ah,_ no, can’t say we did,” Bobbi gasped out, grinding her pelvis down against his hand, desperate for more contact. “Knew a couple of classmates who could have used it though.” She gripped his hair and tugged him toward her clit. “Now shut up and keep going.”

Fitz muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “why am I not surprised” before obliging her request, roughly pulling the crotch of her panties aside once again and gracelessly falling face-first into her cunt. She gasped and threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut and digging her nails into his scalp as he angled his mouth upward and began working her swollen clit in earnest, drawing it between his lips and flicking back and forth over her sensitive bundle with the tip of his tongue. 

Bobbi felt as if the room were rocking on its axis, and at some point the air temperature had become unbearably hot, but she was too strung out to care about anything other than the current situation between her legs. A situation that, thanks to Fitz’s tongue and fingers, was quickly approaching critical mass. 

“Oh, _fuck -_ Fitz, I need - so close,” she panted, frantically rocking against the firm heat of his mouth, waves of mounting pleasure coiling deep in her core. She felt her walls begin to flutter and clench around his fingers as he increased the pressure of his strokes. He grazed his teeth over the very top of her clit and that was the final push she needed. She fell to pieces, one hand flying up to her mouth in an attempt to muffle her scream, the other remaining on the back of his head and holding his face against her pulsating center as she shook apart beneath him.

When Bobbi finally came back to her senses, the first thing she noticed was that she was drenched in sweat. She cracked one eye open and carefully brought her chin to her chest, taking note of the state of her white t-shirt, now made completely see-through by the buckets of vodka-laced perspiration that was slicked over every inch of her skin. 

“ _You’re like a bloody one-woman wet t-shirt contest,”_ Hunter’s voice suddenly echoed in her head. She raked her fingers through her damp hair and inwardly groaned. He always did like to point out that she was “the sweatiest bird” he’d ever met, but _seriously_ \- she really shouldn’t have to deal with Lance Hunter’s imaginary snarky commentary, _especially_ at a time like this. 

_“By ‘a time like this’ do you mean ‘while my mate’s face is buried between my wife’s legs’?_ ”

“ _Ex_ -wife,” Bobbi hissed, rubbing her hand over her eyes. Honestly, the _nerve_.

“Hmmm,‘s’ that?” Fitz slurred, resting his chin on her thigh. 

Her eyes snapped open. Shit. She’d said that out loud. 

“Nothing,” Bobbi breathed, lifting her head to smile at him, only to have the weight of the alcohol push her back down against the armrest with dizzying force.

“Ugh, help me up,” she groaned, closing her eyes stretching her arms out in his direction like a child. She felt him shift his weight and lean over her, and she flopped her arms around his shoulders as he slid his hands beneath her back and pulled her upright until she was on his lap, her good leg wrapped around his waist and her bad one still hanging limply off the cushions. 

She tightened her grip on his shoulders and grimaced as she made several valiant attempts to lift her leg off of the floor before finally giving up. She reached back and grabbed the front of her knee brace, yanking as hard as she could and literally tossing her limp limb up onto the couch beside her. “Useless,” she muttered, glaring at her half-clothed leg in disgust.

 _“Something tells me you aren’t just talking about the leg there, love,”_ Hunter’s voice said softly.

 _Ugh_. Great. He was still there. 

Bobbi grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force Hunter out of her head. Snide comments about fucking his friend were one thing. But psychobabble about her feelings of self-worth? Nope, he could fuck right off with that. 

She felt the arms around her waist tighten a bit, and she opened her eyes to find the blurry and worried face of Fitz inches from her own. “Hey...you ok?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “You gonna be sick, or...or...did I hurt you?” He moved one hand from her back and carefully placed it just above her knee brace. “Your leg, I mean,” he clarified, rubbing gentle circles on the skin of her thigh with his thumb. “Did I...was it too, uh...much?” 

Bobbi felt a tremendous wave of affection for her friend wash over her. He actually seemed like he was on the brink of apologizing for giving her an orgasm, and that was just such a _Fitz_ thing to do, she could barely stand it. She hooked her fingers around his collar and pulled him forward to land a messy kiss on his lips. 

“No,” she declared with a wide, genuine smile. “I’m fine. More than fine. Wasn’t too much. It was exactly the right amount of much.” 

Fitz bobbed his head. “Good to know,” he replied with a dopey grin, and Bobbi watched as his gaze slid from her eyes down to her cleavage. Something about the way he absently licked his lips as he stared at her tits made her shiver. She carefully snaked her bad leg between his lower back and the couch until she had both legs wrapped around his waist like a pretzel. 

_“I hope you’re at least going to let him finish before you devour his head,”_ Hunter mused drily from his perch in the corner of her mind. _“This whole scene is starting to look a little too praying mantis-y for my taste, to be honest.”_

“I _do_ have a problem though,” Bobbi continued loudly, ignoring her ex-husband’s voice and running her hands along her neckline. “My shirt. It’s wet. I want it off.”

Fitz was already pulling the fabric up her back before she had even finished her sentence. “It _is_ wet,” he mused, working the shirt over her head. “Did you spill something on it or…something?” he asked drowsily, tugging the fabric toward his chest as she pulled her arms out of the sleeves. 

“No, it’s because I’m a sweaty bird,” she sighed, grabbing the shirt from his hands and launching it in the general vicinity of her clothes hamper. She leaned forward and placed a series of sloppy kisses against his neck and jaw as her fingers began working on the buttons of his oxford. 

“Well, that’s ri-ridic…ah, _ridicule_ … um…tha’s… just _dumb_ ,” he slurred, his hands scooting up her back and landing the clasp of her bra. “Birds don’t have gla…. Um, they don’t have….the, ah… _things_ for…they _lack,_ um….” 

Distantly, Bobbi felt her heart tug. It had been ages since Fitz had had trouble finding the right words, and she hoped that it was just the combination of her mouth on his throat, the alcohol in his bloodstream, and his intense focus on taking her bra off that was tripping him up. 

( _"He’s been getting worse for weeks now,”_ Hunter’s voice whispered faintly, “ _and you know it.”_ )

“…sweat glands!” Fitz suddenly exclaimed, shaking her out of Hunter’s latest imaginary intrusion. “Birds don’t have sweat glands,” he repeated, giving one last tug at the clasp on her bra. She felt the elastic release, springing away from her back, and Fitz sighed and turned his head. “Yes. Thank you,” he murmured quietly over his shoulder, and Bobbi knew instantly that he wasn’t talking to her _or_ to her wayward bra band. 

It would appear that she wasn’t the only person in the room who had the ghost of someone else living rent free inside their head, doling out observations and interjections as they saw fit. 

_“Guess you two broken souls have more in common than you originally thought. Isn’t that right, love?”_

Bobbi sighed and rested her head on Fitz’s shoulder. God, she _hated_ how smug Hunter always sounded when he was pointing out her deepest weaknesses. And the version of him that only she could hear was somehow even _more_ insufferable than the real thing. 

But regardless of what form of Lance Hunter she was being forced to listen to, one thing was for certain. She _really_ hated when he was right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was supposed to be a smutty, realistic, drunken one- shot has turned into a bit of a Bobbi Morse character study. I honestly don’t know how this happened. This is why I shouldn’t post WIPs.


End file.
